


The Shire Lily in Bree

by eschscholzia



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Acts of Kindness, Bree - Freeform, Bystanders - Freeform, Don't copy to another site, Ensemble Cast, Gen, MeToo for Hobbits, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Touching, POV First Person, Sexual Harassment, Teitho Fanfiction Contest, The Prancing Pony, Upstanders, kindness of strangers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 10:09:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18313469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eschscholzia/pseuds/eschscholzia
Summary: The Prancing Pony’s tavern maid reflects on a disturbing week at work caused by surly new arrivals from the south and the bizarre Underhill Party of Four. This story was written for the March 2019 Teitho Contest on the prompt of "Stranger."





	The Shire Lily in Bree

**Author's Note:**

> This story placed first in the March 2019 Teitho Contest by default, as it was the only entry. If you are a writer of LoTR fanfic, please consider supporting the contest by writing entries or submitting prompts or voting. I'd really rather have won on the story's merits in a fair contest! You can find out more about the monthly Teitho Challenge [here](http://teitho.waking-vision.com/modules.php?name=Intern&file=index).

I still remember that week; who wouldn’t? After all, ‘tis the night there was the uncommon row that made all our blood run cold, Big Folk and Little Folk alike. And before that was the foolish Shire Folk doing magic tricks. And even before that was, well, not a very good day at work. It all started when I was working my shift on a crisp fall night. The tavern was crowded as everyone celebrated a successful harvest. Mr. Butterbur had asked me to stay late; the other tavern maid Zillah had thrown her back out the day before, and could only hobble bent over, poor thing. It seemed a reasonable enough proposition: a little extra work for twice the tips. I needed the money for my family. The common room was filled with all the usual villagers of Bree, plus the all the guests. 

We were all kept busy. Bob was out in the yard, tending to the horses and ponies for the visitors. Nob was running back and forth clearing away dishes from finished tables, and carrying the trays of food to those what had private sitting rooms to eat in. I was working the common room as usual. The meal of the day was Mrs. Butterbur’s hearty stew; I carried out bowl after steaming bowl of delicious thick brown broth with large strings of beef and floating potatoes and carrots, all the products of the bountiful harvest this year. I just wished there had been a better harvest last year. There was no time for worrying about what was done, as I tended to the guests in the here and now. 

Nob ran the mugs of beer out to the patrons from the bar as fast as Mr. Butterbur could pour them. Some customers hold their beer better than others, don’t you know? I knew that I had the power to cut them off-- one word from me or Zillah or Nob and Mr. Butterbur would lay a friendly hand on their shoulder and suggest it was time to go easy. But some customers would get angry, and angry customers don’t leave good tips, and I needed the money.  

The _ Prancing Pony _ was doing well that night. The roaring fire in the big hearth cast a glow over the common tables, and a bitter tang of pipeweed swirled around the rafters. The tables were close set, so I had to weave my way in and out. A good number of men from the south had come up from the Greenway that day. They were surly types, and friendly with Bill Ferny. Bill was one of the customers I disliked. A pat on the bum or a pinch on the cheek went with the territory as a tavern maid, sadly, but Bill was worse than that. I tried to avoid him whenever I could, but sometimes I couldn’t find excuses for Nob to take him his meals. The thought of his touch makes me shudder even now.   

Perhaps that night Bill was emboldened by his new friends from the south, but that evening he was extra handsy. He took his dinner in the corner, huddled with one of the recent arrivals, half-concealed in the shadows of the firelog’s light. I had to bring them the apple pudding for their after-dinner sweets; Nob was busy setting up some rooms for a party of dwarves, so I couldn’t get him to carry it to them. I didn’t like the look of one of Bill’s strange new friends. He was all squint-eyed and a pointy nose to boot. 

It was as soon as I set the pudding down that matters got bad. Bill reached an arm out and pulled me down next to him on the settle. The coarse linen of his shirt scratched my upper arm, as he squeezed me to him, tight. His hand clutched my chest.  

“Come here, pretty Lily Smalltoes, and give us a kiss!” he crooned in my ear. 

I closed my eyes and turned inward, as I had learned to do in the last year. I always hoped that if I didn’t respond, someday Bill’d give up. I thought of the quarterly rents just paid last week on my widowed mother’s hobbit-hole and imagined her happiness to know she could stay until Yule. 

“Aw Lily, don’t be stuck up. All I want is a kiss.” Bill always sounded so aggrieved.

“What tasty morsel comes after pudding,” inquired a voice in my other ear. A dizzying wave rushed through me, sickening my stomach. I shivered, and squeezed my eyes tighter. It must be Bill’s squint-eyed friend, I thought. His breath, nay his whole body, had that sour smell of too much drink, like olives.   

“Please let me go,” I whispered. 

There was a rustle of fabric; Bill froze.          

“I believe the lady has said no.” It was a new man’s voice. “Anyone can tell your attentions are unwanted by the look on her face, without even speaking the Common Tongue,” it continued. The third voice was smooth as blown glass, yet cut like Mrs. Butterbur’s best de-boning knife. Bill’s arm around me tensed.  

“Strider.” Bill’s voice dripped oily contempt. 

I opened my eyes. One of the raggedy northern Rangers held a dagger to Bill’s chin. 

“We’re just having a little fun,” the squint-eyed stranger whined, his voice twisting on the word ‘little.’ 

“Let. Her. Go.” 

Bill sighed and took his arm away with a sneer. I recoiled into the far corner of the settle, like an apple bounces up after it’s pushed under water. Strider put his dagger back in his belt, then held his hand out to me. 

“Miss?” 

I took his hand and he pulled me to my feet. It was warm and strong around mine, so tiny in comparison. I was grateful to this kind new stranger, but could not say any words. My mouth flapped once, twice, and my eyes itched with tears about to overflow. I rushed past him to the courtyard of the inn, where I splashed cold water on my face from the rain bucket. I leaned against the sturdy wall of the  _ Pony _ , taking deep breaths as I tried to gather enough of my wits about me to go back in. I had other tables who were likely clamoring for their pudding, too.  On the other side of the square Bob was carrying hay to the horses. He didn’t see me. A few stars winked at me in the window of sky overhead. There was a small sliver of moon. I lifted my chin and went back inside. Strider was not in the common room anymore; just the regulars and those worrisome southerners. 

That night I fell into bed exhausted. Towards morning I had strange dreams of the strange squint-eyed southerner, laughing menacingly at me. I tried to hit him but was powerless. My hand slipped off his arm, harmless, as mild as if I was only caressing it. I woke up with tears on my face. 

I helped my cousins wash up after first breakfast, then wrapped my shawl around me and went outside to work in the garden for some solitude. The garden was almost done for the winter; only a few winter beets and cabbage remained. I savagely ripped at the dead stalks and such as in the spent beds, dragging them to the waste pile in the corner. It made me feel better. 

I was grateful for Strider’s intervention the night before, but it disrupted my neat view of the social order of Bree and the  _ Prancing Pony _ that I had built for myself. I had seen other Rangers from the north before at the  _ Pony _ , but never him. Rangers were not unusual in Bree. What  _ was  _ unusual about the whole circumstance was that none of the Big Folk had ever stood up for me before. I had concluded early on that Bill’s treatment of me was invisible, because it was easier than believing people had seen but didn’t care.

The  _ Pony _ was so busy that next day, I didn’t have time to dwell on my thoughts. Just as the day before, there were the usual folks from Bree, and those unsettling southerners, but that second night they were joined by a large party of dwarves. Bill left me alone that evening, for which I was grateful. Strider sat watching the goings-on from the shadowed corners. My eye slid over Strider as I brought him his blackberry tart. His green hood was pulled up high on his head, shadowing his face, occasionally illuminated by the glow as he worked on a bowl of pipeweed. The Rangers always seemed to fade into things when they wore their cloaks. He had his feet up, though, and Mrs. Butterbur would definitely notice _ that _ , if she came out of the kitchen. His eyes met mine, and he nodded. 

“Thank you.” My voice cracked. I fled. 

There was also a party of hobbits from the Shire. It was unusual that hobbits ever left the Shire, whether for adventure or to seek their fortune. The register said it was Master Meriadoc from up at the Hall, and some friends of his: a Took and a Gamgee and an Underhill. Everyone knew Master Meriadoc, and how smart he was, but of course he wouldn’t know me. I hadn’t seen them come in, too busy with the dwarves. I half-hoped he wouldn’t notice me-- at the same time I was excited to see a popular hobbit like him. His friends were certainly causing a stir. I could hear one of them behind me singing some raucous sing-song ditty about the Man in the Moon. I looked up from the guest register just as the singing one vanished.

Gone.

Disappeared into aught.      

I blinked, and saw him who disappeared over in the corner, talking to Strider. Bill and the southerner noticed too. A glance passed between them, and they disappeared out the door. I shook my head; I had been working too hard lately, with Zillah out and extra shifts. It must be all the pipeweed in the air, to explain what I saw.  

When I arrived to the  _ Pony _ the next day, fresh from my elevenses and ready to start my day’s work, the stableyard and the taproom were all in a tizzy. Nob and Bob were almost scared stiff as Mrs. Butterbur’s big washing paddle. All the ponies and horses were gone; Bob was in fear for his position. Mr. Underhill and his friends and Strider were gone, too. Nob told me they left just at second breakfast, with only the sack of apples he gave them. They had to hire a poor sad pony from Bill Ferny to replace the five they lost. I thought it must be a kindness to take the animal from him.

Nob told with a mixture of pride and awe how he had hidden bolsters in the Shire hobbits’ beds last night while they stole away to another room, and in the morning they found the terrible mess, feathers every which way and Mrs. Butterbur’s neat red curtains flapping in the breeze of broken windows. And not a soul heard anything! I shuddered to think who could have done such a thing. I thought it must have been a dream, a nightmare, for what could possibly exist in our world like that? That night I pulled the covers over my head, cowering in my truckle bed under the eaves.

It was that week that things changed; the business got bad when Bill Ferny and his new friends took over. At first there were plenty of newcomers come up from the south. Zillah and I still did our best, but the newcomers were twice as demanding and three times less pleasant.  They were mean drunks, unlike Little Folk, who tend to the boisterous or maudlin. 

Finally nobody wanted to travel any more, and even local Bree-landers shut themselves up in their homes at night. Mr. Butterbur kept us on as long as he could, but eventually he had to let Zillah and me go. He paid us two weeks’ wages. I stayed another week in Bree, looking for other work, but there was none. My cousins were kind, and protested that I could stay as long as I needed, but we all knew that I did not want to trespass on their good nature. They were having business problems of their own. 

I hitched a ride on a farmer’s cart going back to Buckland. My young siblings were glad to see me, and I them, but I met my mam’s eyes over their heads. Where would we get money for food and clothes, now? 

Things were hard under the Ruffians. I won’t deny it. Others had it worse than us, with all the lovely trees cut down and the folk who were turned out of their nice holes. Perhaps because we had so little to begin with, we Smalltoes slipped under the Ruffians’ noses and didn’t attract their attention. After Sharkey and the southerners were thrown out when Master Meriadoc and Peregrin Took set things to right, things seemed better somehow. We found out from them that Strider was actually a King out of the old tales, one and the same. And, blessedly, there were no more troubles at night. 

I began baking pies for sale. I’ve always had a light hand with pie crust, so I’ve done quite well at it. My sisters and brothers help. The big ones roll out the dough, and load the ovens, while the little ones pick the fruit. I even have a commission from Brandy Hall to send up my best fruit pie each month.  

And now today comes the news that Strider, who calls himself King Elessar in his stone city to the south, has made a decree, saying that Big Folk like him are not to enter the Shire. I am grateful to him for that. Most of the Big Folk that I knew in Bree were good people. But this will protect us from the Bill Fernys and Sharkeys of our lives. I knew that Strider was a good person too, from the moment he protected even little me. I wonder if he likes meat pies or fruit pies best, and would they travel if I sent one that far?  

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank Evilmouse for providing wonderful feedback and encouragement for the story on short notice. I take full ownership of anything that went wrong.


End file.
